The Beast of Finger Wood - Chapter 1

Written: Mostly on and off during 2010, finished early 2011

Chapter 1

    When she was younger, Sparrow was the hero of her village. Not because she actually was a hero; it was just because of something she’d manage to do when she was only fourteen.

    Some of the Winged People were able to gain their wings through sheer force of will, without any outside pressures – even without any social pressures. They gained them just because they wanted them, and the world be damned if they didn’t. Sparrow was one of those. Also, the youngest to do so as far back as anyone in the village could remember (and, according to the chronicler’s society in the capital, the fourth youngest in recorded history).

    That was about thirteen years ago, though. Sparrow tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, reclined back into the chair, and sighed. Having wings gives you an unfair advantage my arse, she thought to herself. She took a gulp of the unpleasant local beer from her glass, and turned her thoughts to how she’d whip up some coinage without winning the tournament. Probably shouldn’t have won the archery competition of every fair between here and Riverjoin, she mused. I guess I’ll just sit in this damn inn all day, and try to get one of the knights to hire me to help them kill something.

    “By my father, that girl’s got one hell of a swing!” muttered Jerry, as he watched the squires melee.

    “Stop staring at her, Jerry. Sh’ain’t gonna be pretty, no matter what your hope,” replied Beryl.

    “Berry, let a man dream. She’s got a good body at least – that armour wasn’t made to fit a man.”

    “Jerry, if she fits that armour well, she’s built like a brick shithouse.”

    “Padding, Berry! Padding!”

    Beryl shook his head, and then grinned. “Alright Jerry. Let’s make a bet. I bet my last three coppers that she’s plain, at best.”

    “You’re on, Berry. Looks like it’ll be over soon. It’s just her and some poor sod. Haha, I’ve got two silvers on her.”

    Berry groaned at his own misfortune. He’d put his four silvers on the hulking squire of Sir Beness, who had been beaten down by a group of three others right at the start. On the other hand, for the whole match, only two of the thirty-odd squires had actually seriously tried to beat the girl right from the start – the rest had either ignored her or gone obviously easy. Jerry had cheered loudly both times someone going easy had been clobbered brutally over the head.

    The two squires advanced slowly, covering the distance between where they had just felled their opponents. The girl, Annette, was the squire of a knight of impeccable reputation. He wasn’t openly famous (though arguably should have been, having saved more lives than most other knights alive), but he was known as a good, brave, and skilled man. Berry wasn’t sure who the other squire was, as the lad had dropped his shield somewhere. He was of a good height, but not much taller than the girl. May as well root for Jerry’s girl, Berry thought. Good luck, lassie.

    Staring through the slits in her helmet, Annette watched the squire approach. She was pretty sure it was the Knight of Greywater’s squire. She hoped it wasn’t, though. The poor girl had been forced to train to take her father’s place her whole life. Most of the knights knew, but only a couple of the squires did. Annette was fine with hitting people who wanted to fight, or who had to be fought to save others, but hitting a poor girl who had to become a knight for a sonless father was something she didn’t want to do.

    With barely three metres between them, the other squire pointed their sword at Annette, and loudly said, “Let’s give a show to remember!” She recognised the voice; it was Brent, a pleasant squire to one of the more serious knights that Graeme approved of. Annette felt a twinge of embarrassment for mistaking his gender, and raised her right mace above her head, before screaming a battle cry as she ran at him.

    Beryl watched as Annette slammed into the other squire, knocking him on his feet. He managed to get his sword up in time to block her left mace, but she quickly walloped him on the head with her right. She backed off, and let him get to his feet. Taking a step forward, he swung at her fiercely, but she blocked it with her right buckler, and slammed her left mace into his right side. He stumbled, and she followed the blow with a back hand slam of the same mace into his helmet.

    He reeled backwards from the blow, and fell down onto his back. Annette took a step forward to stand over him, and all was silent until the squire yelled out, “I yield!” Jerry almost flew out of his seat as he stood up, cheering loudly. Berry joined the crowd in its cheering, clapping. The squire looped her maces to her belt, and lifted off her helmet, holding it aloft in victory, staring out at the crowd surrounding the edges of the field.

    When she turned to face where Beryl sat, he swore. She was quite probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even with dust and sweat all over her face.

    Graeme groaned as he came back from the entrance to the room he was sharing with Annette. “You shouldn’t have taken off your helmet in front of the whole crowd, Annette,” he said.

    “I’m sorry! I got too caught up in all the action,” Annette replied.

    “I know. But that was the eleventh dinner invitation I’ve received this afternoon. I’m glad that no-one important enough to force us to attend was watching the melee, or else we’d be attending one of the useless formal dinners in some shoddy keep instead of meeting some friends of mine who I haven’t managed to see in years downstairs.”

    “To make up for it, I won’t embarrass you if you get into a drinking game,” Annette said, slyly.

    Graeme shook his head, and said “Let’s head down now. We’ll meet them down stairs as they arrive.”

    Late in the afternoon, Sparrow noticed one of the squires glancing at her wings every minute or so. Probably the only female squire at the tournament, and an attractive one too. She didn’t think the squire was the knight’s mistress, either – the girl had a bracelet showing that she’d won one of the melees displayed proudly on her wrist. The knight kept glancing at the door, as if waiting for someone. They made an interesting pair, both in half armour (as was the tradition down here, in case a monster suddenly struck), the girl with long black hair and dark blue eyes, the knight with short brown hair and pale blue eyes.

    Sparrow stood up, hooked her bow on her back, and wandered over, beer in hand. “I think your squire wants to know why I have wings,” she said, getting the pair’s attention.

    The squire turned red with embarrassment, and the knight chuckled. “She’s one of the Winged People, Annette. Likely from the northern mountains, since those in the western mountains disappeared a hundred or so years ago,” he said.

    Turning to Sparrow, he said, “My name is Graeme, and I am one of the landless knights. This is Annette, my squire.”

    “I’m Sparrow, and I do come from the northern mountains,” Sparrow replied, drawing up a seat. “I come from the village of Deepdrift, to be precise.”

    Graeme looked at Sparrow with slight surprise. “Where were you during the archery competition? From what I’ve heard, you won the archery at every fair between here and Riverjoin!”

    “Almost all of them. It’s probably why I wasn’t allowed to compete. My wings give me an unfair advantage, you see.”

    Annette chuckled at Sparrow’s sarcasm, but Graeme frowned. “I hope it’s not because someone believes the stupid folk tales,” he said.

    “I don’t know,” said Sparrow, “But what I do wonder is why someone from the Greater Kingdom is doing as a squire all the way down here.”

    Graeme’s hand shot to his sword. “What do you mean?” he asked, with slight menace in his voice.

    “It’s kind of obvious that either her or her parents are from there. The physical prowess to win a melee, and enviably beautiful as well? She –” Sparrow noticed that Graeme’s hand was gripping the hilt of his sword. “Hey! I was doing caravan guard runs up there, I don’t work for their secret police! And the only Winged Ones up there are the Eyrie, and they’re zealous war scouts.”

    Graeme relaxed his grip. “I’m sorry for being jumpy. I- I shouldn’t be so jumpy. But I’ve seen what they can do. They come, and you might just catch a glimpse or a flash, but then whoever they’re after is gone.”

    “I’m sorry for scaring you. But to be honest, freaking out when someone hints at such a thing just confirms it. So is she or are her parents?” asked Sparrow.

    “My parents are,” said Annette, quietly. “Please, don’t talk about it. They won’t take me, but they will take my parents, and my siblings who are young enough to need their parents. They can likely find out all they need to get to them without even touching me, so please.”

    “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the Greater Kingdom was so insidious down here. The rumours of them grabbing people for their breeding are false, right?”

    “They are these days,” said Graeme, darkly. “In the past, who knows. Some of the older stories are very wrong if they never did. But no more of this. Tell us of yourself, and why you have come this far south!”

    “I’m a mercenary. I usually do scouting or guarding for whoever pays me. I’ve killed seventeen men, and three women. I left Deepdrift when I was seventeen, spent several years guarding a caravan route to the Greater Kingdom from the northern mountains, and have been mostly working in the mostly lawless lands between the Duchies and the Kingdom since. About a year ago, I decided to see the Duchies, and I’ve been moving through them since then.”

    Before Graeme could begin speaking, Annette cut in. “I lived a sheltered life, and convinced my parents to let me be Graeme’s squire a couple of years ago. He helped them before I was born, and he’s been visiting them every few years since.”

    “I was going to ask how you gained your wings,” said Graeme, “before Annette cut in.”

    Sparrow chuckled. “Force of will, when I was fourteen. Nothing like the quests some undertake, which I’m sure would make a good story for a knight.”

    “Hah. I guess I’ll just tell you of myself, instead. My father was a travelling knight, who was sworn to the Duke of Rangehaven as a border guard. He moved up and down it, fighting monsters and righting wrongs in the border towns. As the eldest child, I was first to become his squire, and became a knight twenty-six years ago. I wanted to be like the true knights of old – not sworn to any lord, moving through all the duchies and acting as my father did.”

    “I have stayed true to my aims all these years, and have not stooped to care about my reputation more than the people I help. I have loved two women, and had both refuse to join me in my travels. I live off what I can win at tournaments, and what the generosity of others provides.” Graeme glanced at the door, and saw the first of those he was waiting for. “But I will have to tell my better adventures later, for my friend Sir James has arrived. James! Over here!”

    The evening passed merrily, with the party (swelled by the arrival of several others known to Graeme, and some of their squires) drinking, eating and talking of past adventures and glories. Annette managed to spin a fine tale from her melee victory, and Sparrow and Graeme shared anecdotes humourous, adventurous and glorious.

    Late in the evening, as the last of Graeme’s friends left, Sparrow swore. “I forgot to ask your friends if any of them needed a hand killing something!”

    Graeme laughed. “I can ask them for you tomorrow, if you’d like.” Graeme laughed again, loudly. “Sorry,” he muttered, chuckling. “I get like this when I’m drunk.”

    Annette rubbed her eyes, and said “We could hire her, you know. You’ve said you want to go after that beast lurking in the Finger Wood if we can find some help a few times.”

    Sparrow sat up, interested. “Annette,” Graeme said, “I don’t think I can afford to pay her. I had to use all the money from my second in the jousting to buy a new horse after that idiot impaled Headstrong, and my winnings from foot combats barely covered fixing up my equipment.” Graeme snorted, and then chuckled, “If you’re willing to work and be paid after, maybe, if the beast is big enough, we might be able to make a deal, but-”

    “Sure.”

    Graeme paused for a moment, as if unsure of his hearing. Annette smiled brightly, and giggled. As Annette looked slightly embarrassed, Graeme said “I’ll ask again in the morning, but why?”

    “I’ve been working as a mercenary for many years, but I started because I wanted to see the world and have adventures. I have enough put aside to sustain myself even if this monster slaying doesn’t pay off, so… I want to help you kill the monster.”

Graeme stroked his chin, brushing the stubble thoughtfully. “I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow, when my head is clearer. For now, I think it’s time for both me and Annette to turn in.”

Annette sighed, and said “Alright.” The pair pushed their chairs out from the table and stood up.

“We’ll see you at breakfast,” said Graeme as they turned to walk away.

Sparrow sipped what remained of her beer, before yelling after them “You should know that I’d still like to be paid eventually, if you can manage it!” Graeme’s laugh echoed down as they headed up the stairs. Sparrow gulped down what remained of her beer, and, reclining, wondered why it tasted so much better. Because she’d just done something she’d wanted to for years, or because she’d had eight of them?

Sparrow glared blearily at the sunlight as it crawled down the wall opposite her bed. She sat up in the bed, and put her hand to her head as she let out a long, pained groan. Too much to drink, she thought. She got up and grabbed one of her travelling flasks from her gear and drank half of it, before collapsing back onto the bed.

Ugh, she thought. I need to go find those two before I miss out on some adventure. Shouldn’t have had four more. Shouldn’t have had any more. Aaaagh. Sparrow rubbed her head, and resigned herself to a painful, sickly morning.

Annette and Graeme were already eating their breakfast when Sparrow reached the base of the stairs. “I wonder if she drank any more after we left?” Annette said.

“Looks like it,” replied Graeme. As Sparrow occupied one of the seats on their table with an incoherent mumble, Graeme said “You look like you lost a fight with the bottom of a bottle.”

“More or less,” muttered Sparrow. Wincing, she continued “Have you considered hiring me, then?”

“Yes. I’d like to talk terms after breakfast, though, so you have a chance to recover. Did you stop drinking when we left or?”

“The local beer grows on you, sadly,” replied Sparrow.

Annette giggled, and said “At least the local spirits didn’t grow on you. Once Graeme got-”

“I’ll just order you something,” interrupted Graeme, standing up, “and let Annette bring up embarrassing stories without me having to hear them.”

Sparrow was feeling quite a bit better as the meals were being cleared. She looked straight at Graeme, and said, “So what sort of terms?”

“I have no idea what your rates are, but if we kill the monster, we’ll pay you out of the reward. If it’s accumulated to less than a third of the reward, we’ll give you a third. If we don’t kill the monster, I’m afraid we won’t be able to pay you – at least not fully. If we manage to acquire some donations or side work, we can give you some of that – if we can afford it. What do you think?”

“It sounds good. I usually work for about ten or twelve silver a week, but that’s for low risk work. High risk work (and this is high risk, unless your monster isn’t dangerous at all) I’ll do for about twenty silver a week,” Sparrow smiled, noticing Annette looking shocked at the cost. “It’s not that much when you consider that I pay for all my equipment, living and eating with that. Making extra is important for when the work is lean, and hazard pay is to ensure no-one gets you killed for fun.”

“It’s also pretty low for a mercenary of your calibre, with wings,” said Graeme. “What are your actual rates, Sparrow?”

Sparrow chuckled, and said “Double to thrice that, or more if they seem desperate. I earnt that much when I worked the caravan gig ten years ago.” Sparrow leaned in, and whispered, “I have a lot more cash on me than you would expect because of those rates, so don’t worry about me running out if you can’t pay me for months.” Leaning back again, she added, “I’ll work for you for the former rate, or you can just cut me in for a third of the reward, though.”

“I’ll stick with what I said before, and you can decide whether you want a third or twenty silver for each week when we’re done. Do we have a deal?” asked Graeme, offering his hand.

“Sure,” replied Sparrow, grabbing Graeme’s hand. “Deal.”

“We’ll leave in three days, when the blacksmith has finished fixing up my armour and Annette’s. We’ll be staying here until then, so you should have no trouble keeping in touch with us.”

“Alright,” said Sparrow. “I’m going to go stretch my wings.”

As Sparrow left the table, Annette piped up. “Is that how you hire mercenaries normally?”

“Usually they don’t fall right into your lap, they’re not half as useful, and they don’t cut you a very good deal if they can help it,” answered Graeme, with chuckle.

Sparrow soared high above the town, enjoying being able to fly without keeping an eye on her mule, for once. She missed the days when she’d been able to travel light, and fly on ahead from people she could trust to mind her gear – and getting paid for it, too. Travelling alone was different, though. Sparrow had to watch her belligerent pack animal when she took short flights to scout ahead; and walk with it the rest of the day.

Still beats moving a stash of stuff one third at a time, she mused. Too many wanderers had spotted what she’d been doing, and despite some violent discouragement, she’d lost a lot of her cash, once. As she twirled mid-air, changing direction, she smiled, remembering how she had recovered it.

Annette walked alongside Graeme as they navigated the streets of the town. Norgrace was a large town that had grown as a local centre of trade; with local farmers coming to hawk their goods and craftsmen using it as a secure place to fashion woodcrafts and stonecrafts from the rare woods and rocks that were not too distant. Long ago one of the richer merchants had declared himself as a count, and his descendants kept order from the local keep.

Graeme guessed he would have called it a city, if he hadn’t seen a proper city. “If I remember right, Tony’s forge is down here,” he said, indicating a street.

“You’re right,” replied Annette. Tony was the only non-travelling smith in town who specialised in armour and weapons; apart from the count’s personal smith. The rest who did were travelling smiths, and Graeme avoided travelling smiths if he could. “Don’t trust anyone you don’t have the time to find again,” was his motto when dealing with travelling tradesmen.

    They continued on to the smith’s shop, and entered. Tony’s wife was lounging behind a counter, counting a large pile of coinage in front of her. As they entered, she looked up and smiled brightly.

    “Now that you’ve finished receiving bribes to change the fixing order, how long will it be before Tony gets to fixing our equipment?” Graeme asked.

    The woman grinned in mock surprise, and replied “Sometime tomorrow, likely, but late. Drop by in the early evening and it should be right as rain.”

    As they left, Annette looked at Graeme quizzically. “Does she actually take bribes? I couldn’t tell if you were serious when you said that.”

    “She does, although it’s only usually pompous twits who bother to. Everyone else it to poor or tips instead. We’re too poor, if you were wondering.”

    Annette chuckled, smiling, as they continued their errands.